For a Moment

This book is the eighteenth title in Marco Fraticelli’s Hexagram series from King’s Road Press. All books are short, but the series represents a who’s who of haiku, so it’s a fine series to be a part of. Each book features a different hexagram on the cover. Mine is #27, “nourishment,” about which the I Ching says “Nature nourishes all people. The wise man uses words carefully in harmony with what is right. He only offers guidance that he knows will help his followers.” Here are a few of the poems from the book, as selected by editor Marco Fraticelli. A PDF version of the book used to be available on the Haiku Foundation website, but no longer seems to be available. For a Moment was Book of the Week on their website on 3 February 2020, where the page says “Welch is one of the stalwarts of American haiku. His works are almost always sharp, concrete renditions of original moments, and this collection is a fine example of his skillful work.” All poems have been previously published in various journals. The “summer heat” poem was presented in one line in For a Moment, but elsewhere had appeared in three lines. See also “He’s Got My Number.”

dwindling fire—

our conversation shifts

to death

spring cleaning—

dust in the shape

of unanswered mail

spring breeze—

      flowers

            in the folds of your skirt

garden supply store . . .

     each sundial

     tells a different time

summer vacation—

our rhubarb stalks

tipped with sugar

summer heat

      two squirrels

            meet on a wire       +

floating down the stream

         petals

                    swept

from the summer-house deck

a rest by the stream—

burrs on the tongue

of my tennis shoe

falling rose petals . . .

the tattoo

on the pallbearer’s arm

grey sky—

the dog’s water dish

iced over

December dawn—

the shape of the flower bed

under fresh snow

home for Christmas . . .

my childhood desk drawer                                                                                                  +       +

empty

Christmas Eve—

bits of a price sticker

stuck to my finger

a swirl of snow—

she lifts her hair

out of her sweater

a perfect snowflake

for a moment

on your tongue